I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe. All rights go to JK Rowling.

There's a Rated R bit further on down.


Chapter Thirty-Eight: Catalyst


"Here I am, and I stand so tall,

Just the way I'm supposed to be,

But you're onto me

And all over me…"

Gravity-Sara Bareilles


Nearly a month had passed, and little progress was made. Hermione found herself wearing thin.

It's going to take time for you to feel better, she reprimanded herself each time she began to feel anxious. You weren't really expecting everything to go back to normal so quickly, were you?

Of course not. But I feel like I am losing my mind. I still hear his voice so clearly, like he's with me. I feel him whenever someone touches me.

It had been alright at first, when she had been ecstatic at finding out Harry was alive and being surrounded by those she had missed so much while trapped with Draco. Harry held her hand at every opportunity and comforted her when she did not want to sleep. They had spoken in private and discussed their relationship one night a few days after her arrival. Neither had felt like sleeping, Hermione's Dreamless Sleeping Draught stood shunned on the bedside table and they faced each other on the bed without saying a word afterwards, the bumps and folds of the blanket beneath them separated them like a canyon made of cloth.

They had agreed there would be no intimacy between them until Hermione felt herself healed enough to do it. Harry would never pressure her to do anything she did not want to. If he did anything that made her uncomfortable she was to inform him at once.

Harry longed to hold her, to be able to touch her like he once could without repercussion. When he looked at her sad mouth he wanted to kiss her until she smiled again, until the stars in her eyes lost their dullness and recovered their bright enthusiasm. It pained him to see how she had changed, how she walked around with a tense, frightened posture, like prey awaiting the pounce of its pursuer. Time and time again he wondered if he should take her for counseling, he was sure she would benefit from it, but whenever the subject was raised Hermione grew agitated and refused.

Neville visited several times each week to see how Hermione was doing. Harry, Ron and Ginny often accompanied them while everyone else went to work. But he had not come for the past few days. His Grandmother was to visit America and the task of seeing her settled safely there had befallen onto him.

Strangely, Mr. Weasley was having difficulty finding a Curse Breaker to remove the spells from Hermione's ring. Everyone was occupied, apparently, so they would have to wait. Not only that, her parents had yet to be found. Tonks and Mad-Eye had sent quick notes to her, promising they were working hard to find Mr. and Mrs. Granger and send them back to her.

Hermione fervently hoped they would hurry. She dearly wanted to see them. She wasn't so keen on telling them what had happened to her, but good Mrs. Weasley promised she would help. Some nights Hermione imagined her mother was with her, stroking her hair as she used to, singing the quiet lullabies she had not heard since she was a little girl. She imagined her father's arms, solid and sure, around her, surrounding her in safety. These daydreams helped comfort her a little, but she preferred the real thing.

The warrant to search the Malfoy Manor had been speedily granted, and a group of Aurors and Order Members had been dispatched to complete the task. They had been given two days to look through the great manse, but nothing had been found aside from a few dark magic trinkets found in Lucius's study that had nothing to do with what they were after. The items were illegal, but since their owner was deceased there was no one to fine so the items were merely taken into the Ministry and destroyed.

Narcissa Malfoy's grave was found in the orchard behind the house. After they left Lucius was buried alongside his wife and the Manor was left as it had been found, and Hermione's hope dimmed a little more. With the lowering of her hopes, her desperation grew.

Twice Hermione had attempted to cut off her own finger. The ring had prevented her from harming herself in the past, but who knew, she reasoned with herself, perhaps it had changed. She had been able to kill Draco; that should not have been possible with the ring. She dared hope its spells were wearing off. Being short one finger was a small price to pay for complete freedom.

Each attempt brought forward no result. Hermione could use all her might to hold the knife in her hand but somehow it would slip through her fingers like it was slathered in oil. It had taken all her strength and power, but just once she managed to bring it down inches away from her finger. Still, that same peculiar force that had prevented her punches and strikes from reaching Draco made it impossible for her to cut away the offending appendage.

Harry had encountered a desolate Hermione minutes later. It was lucky there was no one else around, for blinded by fury and despair she had flung the knife across the room to stick into the wall. The knife was taken down and the wall speedily mended before anyone noticed, and Harry had endeavored for several minutes to calm her down.

"I just want it off," she had whimpered into his shoulder after she had buried her face into his chest. "I can't stand thinking he still has a claim on me even though he's dead."

"He doesn't own you, Hermione. We'll find a way to get it off," Harry promised, but deep inside he wasn't quite sure. What if they never did? Hermione had had ample time to find a way to get rid of the ornament whilst in captivity, if she had found nothing, who was to say they would? Working with Voldemort no doubt had given Malfoy resources none of them were likely to find unless if by some miracle they were able to find out exactly where Malfoy had hidden himself and Hermione.

For the thousandth time Harry cursed himself for having left her behind. Probably Malfoy never would have suspected them leaving the school to search for the Horcruxes. It would have given them a good head start to flee and hide themselves securely enough that it would have been a hard task indeed to find them. He and Ron went from place to place to avoid being found and not once had an intruder stumbled upon them, if not counting the Polyjuice wearing off inside the Ministry or the anti-disguise traps setting off inside Gringotts, but that was different. Malfoy would have been too focused on finding her inside the school and even if he had found out about their Horcrux hunt, he would never have known where to find them.

Yet he had so arrogant as to believe he was in charge of Hermione's wellbeing, that he could decide what was best for her. How had he not caught that before? What an idiot he was.

No wonder she had been so angry after finding the note. How much she must have hated him then! Though she had insisted several times before she did not hate him for it he suspected she did. If it hadn't been for him she never would have been taken.

Harry shut his eyes angrily, willing the thought away. They had already talked about this! If these obtrusive thoughts could just go away he would be able to sleep more soundly at night. Neither of them could have known what would happen that night. Neither had known about the spy inside Hogwarts. Adding to that, none of them could have guessed how in just one night all their lives would change.


At some point in the night she had kicked off all her sheets. It was hot, so hot inside the room that the fabric clung to her wet skin. The open window provided no relief; the sun was just beginning to rise outside but there was no breeze to be felt. Her long hair was lank and stuck to her arms as she sat up, pulling the sheets away from her body. The nightie she wore (borrowed from Ginny) was made for summer, consisting of thin material but still she'd sweated through it.

Hermione looked over to Harry, who was still asleep on his cot. It appeared he was not suffering from the heat as much as she was. His face was shiny with perspiration but he had kept his sheets on his body. One arm was slung over his face to shield his eyes from the growing light of the sun, which made visible the damp patch under his arm.

If only there was a fan in the room. She sighed, and swung her legs over the side of the bed, gathering her hair off her neck and back, waving her other hand back and forth to cool herself down.

She had gone to sleep earlier than usual the night before, taking the Dreamless Sleeping Draught just as she should, but it had worn off some time before morning and a dream had blossomed before her eyes, paralyzing her with fear.

It was not like the other night terrors she had experienced before, but it was just as bad. Hermione glanced down at her hand, where the blasted ring sparkled in the weak light. Had it been only the dream, or had she really felt it grow cold? Was that what had woken her?

No, it was his voice. A splash of ice ran through her veins.

What did he say? She couldn't remember. She had barely heard it her mind was so groggy, but it was his voice, she was sure of it.

Hermione looked around uneasily. There was no one but Harry.

It's just memories, she told herself calmly. Memories and nothing more.

The reflected light from the gemstones on the ring landed on her eye, and Hermione blinked and turned away.

Unbidden, his voice disrupted the quiet shakiness of her mind.

'I own you,' he said softly. 'The ring on your finger and the Malfoy crest on your arm prove it. You are my wife and I can do what I wish to you.'

Hermione scowled down at her hand. You don't own me. You cannot control me.

One miracle had been granted her, at least. In the midst of all she had been through, the one thing that gave her some happiness was that he had not impregnated her. Hermione had taken a contraceptive potion every day while at the Manor, but still ridden with worry she had asked for help. Molly had been so kind as to perform spells to make sure and after several excruciating minutes Hermione was at last left in silence, weak with relief that he had not managed to completely take over her body in a way that would have been so totally undesirable to her.

A light snore distracted her and Hermione looked up as Harry rolled onto his back, his arms dropping to his sides. The cot creaked underneath his every movement.

If he moves again he'll fall off, Hermione thought, rubbing the back of her hand roughly against her thigh.

Another snore from him made the corners of her mouth turn up in a tiny smile as she watched him. That cot looked quite uncomfortable-perhaps she should invite him to share her bed?

Moving quickly, Hermione made her way over to him, bending down and shaking him a little to wake him.

"Harry."

He turned his head away, mumbling something she couldn't make out.

"Harry." More vigorous shaking.

"Yeah." Green eyes opened slowly and he looked at her for a moment before the worry set in. He sat up quickly. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," she said. "It's just that it's so hot and that cot looks uncomfortable. Do you want to sleep on my bed?"

"I think it would be better if I slept here, Hermione."

"I want you to," she said quietly, looking down at her feet.

Harry pushed his hair off his forehead, revealing the lightning-bolt scar. "Help me up?"

Hermione bit her cheek to hide a smile and held out her hands for him to grab. Using a gentle grip, Harry latched on and stood, wobbling on unsteady legs for a moment before stepping away slightly to stretch, pushing his fists upwards and arching his back as he yawned widely. Hermione watched, feeling something inside her flutter a little before she looked away rapidly, highly aware of the faint blush rising under her skin.

"Are you sure you want me on your bed?" Harry asked, slurring his words slightly with a tongue still thick from sleep. "I snore, according to Ron."
"Between the two of you he snores loudest," Hermione said. "I don't mind."

They sat on the bed together, side by side. Outside, the sky grew lighter.

"It's so bloody hot," Harry said, pinching the moist fabric of his shirt away from his stomach.

Hermione nodded, not quite paying attention. Her eyes were focused on his lips.

Noticing her silence, Harry turned to face her. "Are you okay?"

Her lips pressed onto his, soft and smooth as a flower petal. After she had pulled back, Harry looked at her curiously.

"I love you, Harry."

A smile spread on his face, warming her all over. It was nothing like the sticky unpleasantness of the climate, this was pleasing and…happy. Her hand throbbed with pain, though. The ring had pinched tighter around her finger, making her hand jerk with the pain but she made herself ignore it.

He reached for her with an inquiring look and understanding it, she nodded her assent.

As his arms came around her she became aware of the instinctual tensing of her limbs and tightening of her mouth but she shook it off angrily.

This is Harry, she reminded herself. He's not going to hurt you.

The tension was stubborn, however, and would not leave, but Hermione reasoned that so long as she was able to bear his touch she was fine.

So far so good.

His lips pressed onto her temple, and she raised her chin to meet his mouth better. He paused before he kissed her, asking another question with his eyes.

"I'm sure," she said. "I want this." It meant the world to her that he had asked, even if it had been wordless. Persuaded, Harry bowed his head to let their lips meet. The moment it happened a jolt of pain went through her, emanating from the ring and Hermione hissed into Harry's mouth, she arched into him in her body's instinctual movement to distance itself away from the hurt.

Harry pulled back immediately. "Did I hurt you? Are you alright?"

"No and yes," she panted, blinking the wetness from her eyes. It wasn't fair.

When he began to pull away Hermione grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him closer, fuelled by anger.

"Please, don't," she said. "I really am okay."

It was clear he didn't believe her. To show him, Hermione pushed him down onto the bed and they scooted towards its center so his legs did not hang off the side.

His green eyes assessed her as she crawled atop him, straddling him at the waist.

A little unsure of what to do, Hermione decided to slip her hands underneath his shirt, drawing them upwards to lay flat against his hot chest. She felt the shiver of pleasure that ran through him, saw him briefly close his eyes. They snapped back open when she leaned forward to kiss his neck.

"Hermione," he began, but was unable to finish because she brought herself back up a little to kiss him on the mouth again. He returned it eagerly, holding her face in his palms to still her for a moment.

"We are not going to do anything you don't want to," he said. "Tell me when you want to stop."

She nodded solemnly, surprised at the excitement she felt growing inside her rather than the dread.

"You're comfortable?"

"Yes." She kissed him again, her hands roamed along his chest and down his stomach. Draco felt like stone compared to Harry-cold, sharp and hard. Harry had muscle too, but he was so warm underneath her she felt she might catch fire if they continued, there was no malice in his eyes and when he kissed her it felt like taking a great breath of air after being underwater for too long. The ring was burning her, it pulsed horribly on her finger and shot more bolts of pain down her arm but she again she refused to take notice of the pain. Draco had taken so much from her already; she would not let him take this away from her too.

You don't own me.

His hands were on her breasts, kneading them gently in his hands and cupping them close together, rubbing his thumb over the fabric that covered her nipples. Again, uneasiness rose inside her and she nearly panicked. At the same time her whole left arm flared with pain, she had to bite her lip hard to keep from screaming. Her right hand contracted and she scratched Harry quite by accident, but not deep enough to tear the skin. Harry sucked in a breath at the sensation, pushing his hips up.

Now her head was hurting. Quite a lot, actually. But she was determined not to stop. She would prove that ghost held no power over her. Harry had noticed her pause and withdrew his hands from her quickly, watching her with alert eyes.

"I'm fine," she insisted, though Harry had yet to ask. "I'm fine."

"Hermione, you look a little ill."

"I don't feel it," she lied. It was so damned hot inside the room, though!

"We can stop right now," Harry said. "I can go get you some water."

"No," she repeated. "I'm fine." She wanted to keep going.

Sliding herself downwards a little, Hermione began to push down his pyjama pants, revealing the boxers underneath. Harry's hands settled on her hips and moved upwards to her waist, her breasts, her shoulders. Quickly, they worked to pull the fabric off him, Harry sucked in a sharp breath as she took him in her hand. Heat was growing inside her, swooping her stomach and making her breaths short, unsteadying her hands. There was that wetness too; she felt it as it dampened her knickers.

"Hermione," he breathed, pushing his head down against the bed as she gave him a slow stroke. A moan burst from his throat as she bent down.

That small action, the way he had moaned her name made her feel powerful. It felt good. Hermione removed her hand and drew back, struggling to remove the piece of fabric from her lower half. The knickers were dropped to the floor and she crawled back atop Harry, who pulled her in for a kiss. It was nothing like the devouring, controlling kisses Draco took from her, Harry's were loving and she took as much from him as he took from her.

"You don't have to do this, Hermione," he said, though he let out a groan when she pulled up the bottom of her nightie and rubbed herself against his exposed length. He could feel her warmth on him; how her lower lips glided along his hard cock, coating him with her pleasure and his hands found their way up to her hips to join her own, which still held the hem of her nightgown.

Her head rolled back, both from the pleasure and pain. Her head was swimming now, it took more effort to get the air into her lungs and she couldn't feel her left arm anymore. The pain was like a poisoned barb, stuck fast inside her and releasing its lethal juice with every action she made. It was strange, she could feel it spreading into her chest and it was awful, like the blood on her veins had been replaced with a liquid form of the Crucio that was tolerable now but no doubt grew steadily stronger inside her. Her body began to shake and she could feel the rage coming, the tears blurred her vision so that all she could see of Harry was the black of his hair. Hermione fought to keep her composure, what little she had left, and clenched her jaw tight to keep the scream that was building inside her silent.

Her mind was screaming for her to stop, but Hermione was reluctant. If she did she would be giving Draco what he wanted.

'I claimed you. No matter what happens you will always be mine.'

No, she thought. Never.

'No one is ever going to take you away from me,' he'd told her. 'I will kill anyone that tries.'

I left you, she thought, grabbing hold of Harry's hands and pulling them down to where their bodies almost met to help guide him inside her. I killed you.

Harry had sensed something was amiss. Hermione really did look ill. Gently, he pulled their hands away to rest on his abdomen. Hermione's eyes met his. They looked pained and a little angry.

"I think we should stop," he said. "I don't think this is a good idea, Hermione."

Why was he so eager to stop? Hermione felt crushed. Did he not want her anymore? Had he lied when he said he did not think she was disgusting?

"Why isn't this good idea?" she asked a little defensively. Her head was pounding viciously now. It took effort to stay upright as she was. "I'm trying to get over what happened," she sniffed loudly. "Isn't that what we all wanted?"

"You're pushing yourself too much. You need time, Hermione." He reached up to cup her face in his palms, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "I love you, but if you're doing this just to prove something to yourself I don't think it will help you."

"I'm not pushing myself," she insisted, pulling her hands from his grip suddenly. "You don't want me, do you? Dr-he's tainted me and you want someone who isn't dirty."

"No-"

"Don't lie to me!" she hissed, and pushed off him, scrambling backwards until her feet hit the floor and she was standing again, wrapping her arms around herself. "I disgust you, don't I? I'm dirty and used and D-Draco was right," she backed again until she could go no further, having hit the wall, and slid down until she sat at the floor with her knees to her chest. Harry pulled his pants back on and approached her cautiously with sad eyes.

"He was right," she spoke to the floor. Her voice was faint, broken.

No one would want her because he had touched her. He had never said it directly but oh, he had implied it often enough, most of the time without saying anything at all.

"You're not dirty, Hermione," Harry was saying, but Hermione could not hear him because Draco's voice came back to her, clearer than her own voice.

'You can turn that pretty head away all you want, you can hate me for as long as you like, but never forget that I am your husband, and you belong to me.'

"No…" she moaned, pressing her fists to her temples as if that pressure would squeeze out the memories. Why couldn't he have just left her alone? It wasn't fair! Killing him should have ended this, it should have destroyed the influence he held over her life.

Furious, Hermione struck the metal edge of the nearest leg of Harry's cot with the back of her left hand, brought back her arm and hit it again three more time in succession before Harry pulled her away, trying to force the ring off but it did not budge and she only succeeded in hurting herself. The pain in her arm had lessened but her head still ached and her tummy hurt. She could feel her arm again (in fact, the feeling to it had returned the moment she had left Harry) but now it throbbed and her hand bled from being slammed against the rough metal of the cot.

"Leave me alone!" she shouted. In the back of her mind she cringed at how crazed she sounded. Was she shouting at Harry or Draco's memory inside her head? Harry had pulled her back to the bed and sat her down, restraining her wild fists until she quieted down.

"Take a deep breath, Hermione," he was saying. "I'm here with you; I'm not going to leave you. Whatever Malfoy told you is a lie."

There was a void growing inside her-perhaps it had always been there-sucking in every word he said though she clung desperately to them, wanting to believe him.

You have to fight; a voice spoke up inside her. Fight it, Hermione. Don't let what Draco did ruin your life.

There was a long pause before she spoke again. "I'm sorry," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I don't know what came over me. I just-"

"You need more time," he repeated softly. "It doesn't get better right away, Hermione. I know you're afraid, but you're going to have to be strong."

"I am strong," she said. At least, I used to be.

"You are," Harry agreed. "You are one of the strongest people I know, Hermione. I love you, and I'll be here to help you for as long as it takes. What happened to you wasn't your fault."

Her eyes closed and she nodded at her lap. The ring had gone cold again.


After that Hermione asked that she not be touched. It was too upsetting, it reminded her too much of Draco, who had spent much of their time together touching her. Hermione knew it had been his own way of constantly reminding her who she "belonged" to, her own unwanted reminders of whom she was with. And Harry had been right-she'd been pushing herself to heal too quickly. Her hatred of the ring, Draco's claim of ownership drove her half-mad whenever she looked at it. She had wanted to prove he had no more control over her, but had hurt herself in the process.

It was for the best that she wait until she could get the ring taken off. Its effects frightened her, she wondered what else might have happened if she and Harry had actually had sex. Shame for what she had done kept her silent for several days, unwilling to see anyone or venture outside her room. During this time she suffered two panic attacks. It had been lucky Harry had walked in to find her while the first was happening, he had been able to help her through it but she was not so lucky when the second came. She had been in the shower and nearly fell when it gripped her, covering her mouth to not make a sound over the racket of the shower as the room spun around her, the fear building in her throat would not let her breathe. She had lingered in the steamed bathroom long after it had ended, her skin felt cold as ice and felt too unsteady to stand.

The Weasleys and Harry watched her carefully, making sure to always let her know she had their support when she needed it. Hermione was excessively grateful for this, but kept to herself out of shame more often than not. She ate little and would have slept less had it not been for the sleeping potions she was provided.

Everyone told her it wasn't her fault, what Draco had done to her, but Hermione could not help but wonder. Before she had escaped Draco, the only thing she had been able to think about was escaping. Now that she had accomplished it she had time for other thoughts. Perhaps it was better to say these thoughts had time for her, since they came up so often though she preferred they didn't. Now that Draco was gone she knew he would never harm her again, but it didn't stop the fear that still constantly plagued her. Not only that-oftentimes she found herself wondering how things might have been different. If she had not been such a know-it-all, if she had not been bent on achieving scholastic perfection as a child, might he ever have noticed her? She was convinced the answer was in the negative. If she had never paid him attention and not allowed his teasing and taunts to bother her then he might have left her alone. If she had been plain, quiet and averse to confrontation then he never would have been drawn to her. Hermione remembered the times when her temper had flared in his presence-the most obvious example being the first time she had slapped him. Up until that point he had never really paid attention to her, she realized. He'd thrown the 'Mudblood' slur at her often, but that had been it, hadn't it? Aside from the jabs at her teeth, hair and braininess, of course, but he had never really honed in on her until after that slap. Without knowing it she had triggered the catalyst for the beginnings of an obsession that would not truly bloom until their sixth year.

The slap had felt so satisfying, she remembered the feel of his smooth, cold cheek beneath her palm, the mutinous, enraged look on his stupid face…She had played it off but had preened about it a bit afterwards, fancying she had knocked him down at last.

How she regretted that now. If only she still had her Time Turner…

She spent so much time outside, a little ways past the garden where the shade of the trees and the messy little hedges could not touch her and she nearly drowned herself in the light of the sun whenever possible. Molly encouraged this, for though having regained most of her health Hermione was still as pale as the day she had come back to them-but she did make sure Hermione put on lotions to protect her skin.

When she didn't feel like going outside Hermione liked to accompany Ginny inside her room. Hermione liked to sit and listen to Ginny talk about anything. Sometimes she participated with little comments here and there or participated in full dialogue. On darker days she stayed completely silent. Ginny didn't talk on these days, knowing without asking silence was what her friend needed, and was happy to provide it.

Ron tried to teach Hermione how to play Wizard's Chess but she was terrible at it, which really wasn't much of a surprise. For years, both Harry and Ron had struggled to teach her but the game held no interest for her. The twins often assured her that her help would be greatly appreciated in the formulating of some new products and she was welcome to come by their shop any time. They had bought an apartment for the two of them to experiment and sometimes live in, since the loud goings on of the makings of their creations would upset Hermione, who often felt guilty about having displaced them though they assured her they had no trouble with it. Both Harry and Hermione helped Mrs. Weasley cook the meals whenever they could.

Little by little by little Hermione's progress inched along to getting better. Some days were better than others, other days felt like she had accomplished nothing at all. Overall her future seemed brighter than before and she felt almost sure she would one day get past it.

And then the package arrived.